


Blast

by Blue_Lacquer



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Lacquer/pseuds/Blue_Lacquer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up after Iroh sees Zuko's ship explode in "The Waterbending Master." Iroh rescues Zuko from the water, and reflects on his relationship with his nephew, before and after the banishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blast

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal.

"Zuko!"

_Lu Ten..._

Embers from the explosion singed Iroh's robe, but he barely noticed. The thunderclap of the blast faded, replaced by the steady roar of flames burning what was left of the ship down to the water, like a candle almost gone. His nephew was on that ship; his nephew refused to come with him for a walk; his nephew was...

"Zuko," Iroh said quietly. Hot tears broke from his eyes. He could not endure this again. Part of his heart died at Ba Sing Se, under sunlight filtering through a smoke filled sky; now another part was dying in this quiet harbor town, under fire scorched blackness. He wasn't sure how much of it he would have left for living.

Frantic splashing, a strangled cry, ragged gasping sounded in the dark water below. Iroh looked, not daring to hope, and glimpsed pale skin and dark hair, arms in red sleeves flailing. He saw Zuko's eyes, wild and fighting, his face barely breaking the surface. He dived from the pier into the churning water, almost as rough as a stormy sea. Smoke from the burning ship rolled over it like fog, stinging his eyes. He might have been afraid he would fail, would drown himself, being an old, overweight man who even in his prime was never that good of a swimmer. But the hardened warrior in him, the part who truly was the Dragon of the West, did not brook the specter of failure. He may not be proud of many of the things he had done in his past as a fighter, but it was that fighting spirit that pulled him through desperate situations. He would win, he would conquer, he would triumph--he would rescue his nephew.

Zuko's face, lit by flame, shifted in and out of view as Iroh moved his head to breathe--coming closer, coming closer, then vanishing when he was almost there. He drove forward, breathing deep and diving below the surface. His nephew was sinking and could not save himself, could not fight against the black water closing over him anymore. He caught an arm in his grip, and pulled the rest of Zuko's faltering body to him, willing both of them up to air. The light of the fire above glowed like the sun, a marker now not of death but of life, and he strove toward it with powerful kicks, muscles straining, lungs bursting.

A moment later, and he was on the surface, the motionless boy anchored to him. "Zuko," he choked into his nephew's ear, but Zuko did not respond. Iroh towed him to shore, and laid him down on the rough, stony beach. He wasn't breathing. Iroh pinched his nose, opened his mouth, and exhaled a strong breath into his lungs. Zuko jerked and spat out a long draught of water, then greedily gulped air. He moaned, and went limp, unconscious, his body still breathing hard. Iroh searched his nephew for wounds and broken bones. He gave a silent thanks to the spirits for a miracle when he saw Zuko had no serious injuries. He surveyed the beach, searching for signs of anyone who might attack them, but saw only frantic townspeople, rushing to protect the buildings around the harbor from the fire. Finally, he collapsed on the beach himself, exhausted, limbs trembling. He rested for a while next to his stunned, but still living, nephew. When he was able, he gathered Zuko in his arms and carried him to higher ground.

***

Iroh was standing by the water in the royal city, waiting for the black flagged ship to come. A Fire Nation ship flying a black flag meant that it sailed with the banished, taking them away from the country forever. Beside Iroh, Zuko lay wrapped in a blanket on a stretcher, a sleeping draught keeping him in quiet slumber. Iroh hoped he had a pleasant dream at least, and was glad he was not awake for this moment. He would have enough bad memories from this night. Iroh glanced at the squad of Imperial Fire Benders in full combat gear who stood a little distance off. It was ridiculous, having twenty men to escort a wounded, sleeping child, but perhaps the Fire Lord worried that the Dragon of the West wasn't as washed up as he thought.

The royal physician knelt by Zuko, fretting over the boy, although there was nothing more he could do tonight. "I wish I had more time with this," Zhee said, standing up. "Burns around the eye are always complicated."

Iroh wished the physician had more time too. But that was impossible--if Zuko was not gone from the city by morning, his father would do even worse to him. He asked, "How is it?"

"As well as can be expected," Zhee replied. He had already given Iroh detailed instructions for caring for the wound--how and when to change the bandages, how to apply the healing balm, how to administer the papaver leaves for the pain--but he repeated the main points again. "Absolutely no fire bending," he stressed, "until he has healed enough to not have to wear bandages. And do try to keep his spirits up."

"That will be the difficult part," Iroh said. He studied his sleeping nephew, watching his chest rise and fall with steady breathing. His scalp was white in the moonlight, even paler than the rest of his skin. His hair had been quickly shaved so the burn could be dressed, but Iroh had stopped the physician's assistant from cutting off his topknot.

The ship came into view. Zhee bowed to Iroh. "I wish you both luck."

"Thank you for all your help tonight, Zhee. I will remember your kindness in a dark time."

"I know it is an ancient Fire Nation tradition, but, between the two of us, I hate the Agni Kai," Zhee said. Iroh wondered how many times in his long life the physician had cleaned up the mess from a fire duel. Zhee sighed and said, "I will call the stretcher bearers."

"I will carry him from here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, he is not a heavy boy."

It was a few hours before dawn. The ship approached slowly, like it was part of a funeral procession. The duel had taken place at sunset. He wondered if Zuko would remember having been banished when he woke up, if he would remember anything from after the moment...Iroh shuddered. He had turned his face away, but he heard Zuko screaming. He had not seen the column of earth that rose from the ground and struck his son, but he heard Lu Ten screaming.

The ship arrived at the dock. Iroh gathered his nephew into his arms, settling the boy's head carefully against his shoulder so as not to disturb his bandages. The ship's captain disembarked and strode up to them. He was surprised that Zuko was asleep, and seemed annoyed, like a schoolteacher catching a student dozing during a lesson.

"General Iroh," he said, bowing. "I will take the Prince."

"No," Iroh said, "I will keep my nephew with me."

The captain was very surprised now. "You...are coming with him?"

"Yes. He is clearly in no condition to travel by himself." The captain looked nervous, so Iroh added, "The Fire Lord has given permission."

The captain nodded. "You are, of course, not banished yourself, sir," he said, "and may return to the Fire Nation whenever you so choose."

Iroh did not think he would ever choose to return without Zuko, but he did not mention that. He indicated the two boxes on the dock, one containing supplies to care for the wound, the other the few clothes Iroh had quickly packed for both of them, and instructed the captain to bring them on board. He was leaving all of his possessions behind, except for a few precious keepsakes of his son which he tucked in his robes, but he found he did not much care. Besides, it would be a reason for a real shopping spree--new things for a new life. He smiled slightly at the first pleasant thought he'd had all night.

He carried his nephew onto the ship. Zuko stirred in his arms, murmuring, but did not wake. He felt long hair brush his cheek, and hot breath exhaled on his neck. He took Zuko below deck and laid him down on a mattress, double checking his bandages.

He carried his son down the long corridor to the boy's room in the palace. Lu Ten muttered in his sleep, something about watching the apples. He felt Lu Ten's fingers twitch with his dream, and gently laid him in bed.

This was a night of pain and horror, but there was a part of him that was happy, and he could feel no guilt for it: he had a son of his own again.

***

"Uncle?" Zuko whispered.

Iroh was sleeping, worn out from his exertions at the beach, but snapped awake at the soft voice, and cried, "Zuko!" His nephew tried to sit up, but grimaced and sank back onto the bed in the town doctor's ward. His right eye was bruised and swollen, so he was squinting through both of them. The doctor confirmed that he was indeed a lucky boy: his worst injuries were a bad concussion and a few gashes that needed stitches. Zuko was badly bruised and would hurt for a few days, but he would recover. He had already suffered through the healing of a much worse wound.

"Uncle, it was the pirates..."

"What?"

"The pirates who had your lotus tile. I saw the bird..."

"I understand. Hush and rest now, Nephew."

Zuko drifted back to sleep and Iroh sat by him, thinking long into the night.

He remembered their encounter with the pirates, who wanted to retrieve a valuable water bending scroll stolen from them by the Water Tribe girl who traveled with the Avatar. It had gone badly, as had all Zuko's attempts to capture the Avatar. The pirates lost the scroll, and their ship, and of course would bear only ill will toward his nephew. But he was suspicious of their finding Zuko so soon after Zhao's visit. Murdering a member of the Fire Nation royal family, even one in exile, was a serious offense, and he doubted that even pirates would take such a risk on their own solely for revenge. No, there had to have been sizable compensation as well, and the blessing of a powerful figure from the Fire Nation itself--for example, an admiral. He sighed, thinking that here was another man whose cruelty he underestimated, and his nephew paid the price for it.

Iroh did not like thinking of the Agni Kai, but it was difficult not to now, seeing Zuko wounded again. Even though he had witnessed more fire duels than he wanted in his life, the one Ozai challenged Zuko to was the one he thought of as _the_ Agni Kai. He had known his brother was a hard, cruel man, but he never believed even he was capable of such savagery. That was what it was, savagery, disguised in the Fire Nation trappings of respect and honor. He couldn't imagine hurting Lu Ten like that, no matter what the boy did (and Lu Ten got into much, much more trouble than Zuko ever had as a child). He would not have believed any father, even one who treated his son as poorly as Ozai did, could imagine doing it either, until he saw it happen with his own eyes.

Even now he couldn't help wincing at the memory. He may not have seen the burning itself, but he saw the prelude, and the aftermath, and that was enough for his stomach and his heart. He rubbed his tired eyes, blinking away the images that rose unwanted in his mind. Zuko had tried to stand and bow to his father afterward, his legs shaking visibly, and the sight had filled Iroh with pain but also with pride. The boy lost many things that day--his position, his home, his pride, his innocence, his honor--by begging for mercy that would not be given, but he had not lost his fighting spirit. He looked at his nephew's face, relaxed for once in deep sleep. He knew Ozai alone was responsible for Zuko's suffering, but he could not help feeling guilt sometimes for the role he played in bringing that suffering about. He knew it was useless to dwell on the past, but sometimes he could not help thinking that he should never have let the boy into the war meeting. Now was one of those times. He closed his eyes. Even if he had turned his nephew away that day, he knew there would have been some other trigger for Ozai's wrath eventually. If it had happened when Zuko was older, perhaps the trigger would have been more serious, and the consequences would have been fatal. At least now Zuko was away from his father's control, and had a fighting chance to be his own man someday. And Iroh had the opportunity to mentor him, a task that was rewarding but also very difficult.

***

Iroh rushed onto the deck of the ship. The watch commander told him that Zuko had left his quarters and demanded to spar with one of the crew. The officer refused, saying the prince was strictly forbidden from fire bending until his bandage was removed. Zuko had then taken his bandage off, and assumed a fire bending stance.

By the time he reached his nephew, Zuko was lying on the deck, pale and shaking, the left side of his face exposed. Iroh had become very familiar with how Zuko looked in the three days since he was burned, but it was still shocking to see in the bright sunlight. The eye was sealed shut, and clear fluid oozed from the corners. The burned portion of his cheek was hugely bloated, so that it looked almost like a fire frog's throat, swollen for singing. The wound was still slowly seeping bloody fluid, not from any one place, but from all over the cracked, blackened skin, like sweat. The fire bender Zuko had accosted stared at them. A handful of the crew gathered to see the commotion, and Iroh waved them all away.

Zuko tried to sit up, and Iroh held him down carefully. "Prince Zuko," he said. "What are you doing? You know you are not supposed to fire bend yet. You will only make your injury worse."

"I need to train," the boy huffed. He was out of breathe and looked like he might vomit.

"Now is not the time."

"I don't have time to waste," Zuko snapped. "I need to master fire bending if I'm going to capture the Avatar."

Iroh shook his head. The condition of Zuko's return home--capturing the Avatar--was a cruel joke, but the boy had grabbed at it like it was a life preserver. Perhaps it was, for now. "Nephew," he said, "come below deck with me. We must dress your wound again."

"No!" Zuko shouted, trying to push Iroh's hands away. "I hate this! I've been trapped in my quarters for days, I can't train, and you keep poking at my face! Stop touching it! It hurts!"

Zhee had warned Iroh that the pain would get worse before it got better, as the damaged nerves in the injured area healed and feeling returned. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't talk to me," Zuko said, turning his head away.

Iroh replied lightly, "You may not want me to talk to you, but we must still bandage your wound." Zuko screamed, and slammed his fists into the deck.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh said, raising his voice over his nephew's outburst, "if you do not take care of your burn properly now, you will not be able to see out of your eye later." Zuko was quiet at these last words, breathing hard and fast with rage. He still didn't look at his uncle. "And you do not need the disadvantage of being half blind when you face the Avatar."

Zuko slowed his breathing, inhaling deeply. He looked at Iroh finally, and there were tears shining on his uninjured cheek. "I want my honor back," he said thickly.

"I know."

Zuko got up unsteadily, but refused to take his uncle's outstretched arm. They went below, and Iroh cleaned and re-covered the wound as gently as he could.

***

Iroh stretched his legs, and sipped the litchi tea the night nurse had kindly given him. While not one of his favorite kinds, it was tea, and it was hot and well brewed. He thought with some grim amusement that teaching himself to re-direct lightning was good preparation for raising Zuko. The boy was like a lightning bolt: crackling with rage and pain and fear, refusing to be forced onto any path by another, and capable of causing severe damage with the slightest mistake in handling. Part of the danger was in his youth--Lu Ten had been overall a happy young man, and even he had dark moments when he was Zuko's age. Part of it was in his nature--Zuko had always been hot blooded and moody. Neither of those things were anything to worry about too much in the long term. Zuko would shed his youthful angst and learn to control his natural temper better as he matured. But most of the danger was in the treatment he'd endured at his father's hands--that was not natural, and would not resolve itself with time and experience. The Agni Kai had been the breaking point, but Zuko's problems had started long before.

He gazed at the pool of soft light on the floor, cast by the lantern by the window. Iroh did his best to care for and teach his nephew, but still he sometimes felt all his effort was not enough. If he only knew the right words to say, to convince Zuko that his father was the one in the wrong. Over the years of the banishment, Iroh heard people talk around the world, even in the unlikeliest places, about the Fire Lord's disfigured and disowned son. They said, "What else can you expect from the Fire Nation? Of course they hate and kill everyone else. Look what they do to their own children!" As far as he was concerned, Zuko's loss of honor in refusing to fight was a technicality compared to his brother's loss of honor in challenging a child. But Ozai was the Fire Lord, and much if not most of the Fire Nation would see the situation his way, or at least claim to: a disrespectful child had gotten his just punishment. It saddened him that Zuko believed this as well.

The heart of the matter, beyond all talk of honor and duty, was that Zuko loved his father still. He would not give up on getting the man to love him, and it was destroying him. If Zuko did not learn that he had his own life, could make his own choices, he would die, spiritually and, eventually, physically, in his obsessive quest for the Avatar. But how do you tell a son that his father doesn't love him, and that he needs to let go? Iroh knew that he could not make anyone stop loving, just as he could not make anyone love. He could only hope that Zuko would soon come to value his own self, his own qualities, and turn away from the poison cup his father offered. Until then, he would do his best to guide him and protect him. And love him, although Zuko refused to let himself fully accept the love he was offered. It did not bother Iroh for his own sake, but he wished Zuko would believe that loving his uncle was not an insult to his father, and that he was worthy of esteem and affection. Iroh drained his tea, and set the cup on the table by Zuko's bed.

***

Iroh chased Zuko down a path in the Sun Garden, the air ringing with the boy's laughter. Zuko tripped over a loose stone, landing hard. Blood splattered the stones from a deep cut in his left hand, and he sat up, gingerly holding it against his chest. He bit his lip and tears welled in his eyes, although he tried to hold them back.

Iroh took out his handkerchief and gently wiped the dirt from the wound, then wrapped it. He sat on the ground next to his nephew and pressed a hand on his shoulder. A shadow swept over them on the path--it was Ozai.

"I would prefer," Ozai said, his cool voice slicing the warm air, "that you not spoil the boy while you are visiting, Brother. His mother does enough of that."

Zuko quickly wiped his tears away and scrambled to bow to his father, the bloodstained handkerchief flapping loose.

"I would not call tending to a wound spoiling him," Iroh replied, staying where he was. He was the elder brother and the heir to the throne, and as such did not have to jump whenever Ozai called.

Ozai ignored him and addressed Zuko, "You--why are you out here wasting time and getting yourself hurt? You should be practicing your fire bending, presuming you actually want to learn it."

"I'm sorry, Father," Zuko said. "I was just..."

"Don't give me your excuses. Your sister is better than you, even though she is younger than you, because she doesn't make excuses--she just does what she is supposed to do."

Zuko swallowed hard, and said, "Yes, sir."

Ozai looked the boy over, and Iroh did not like that look. "Show me," his brother said, "what you have learned."

Iroh stood up. "Brother," he said, "I do not recommend a demonstration just now. He has a fresh cut on his hand--such a thing does interfere with fire bending."

" _Brother_ ," Ozai said, "are you telling me that I may not ask my own son to perform a simple task?"

"No, of course not," Iroh said. "I was merely suggesting..."

Ozai cut him off. "Now," he barked at Zuko.

Zuko began going through the form he was currently learning. He had shown it to Iroh the day before, and did it reasonably well--better than many seven year old boys could. Of course he did not do as well as his sister, but Ozai did not understand that Azula's skill was a rare exception, not the standard. Ozai himself had not been as good as she was when he was a child. Now, however, Zuko was nervous, and still bleeding, and he started making mistakes from the first motion. Zuko knew he was doing poorly and tried to compensate by making more forceful movements. The drill ended abruptly when the handkerchief wrapped around his hand caught fire, and he yelped, falling to his knees to stamp it out on the ground.

Ozai looked insulted. He shook his head and muttered, "Hopeless. My own son, and he is hopeless." He turned and walked away, without another look at Zuko.

Iroh went to his nephew, who was still kneeling on the stones, and sat beside him. Zuko started crying openly now. "I never do anything right," he choked out.

Iroh took his injured hand and re-wrapped the singed handkerchief around it. The blood had slowed, but not stopped yet, and he pressed the hand in his. "Everyone makes mistakes," he said. "Everyone has bad days. You remember, you just did this yesterday, for me. I know you can do it."

"I couldn't do it for my father," Zuko said, his voice breaking. "He thinks I'm hopeless."

Iroh sighed. Why did Ozai treat the child this way? In his heart, he knew the answer--because that was the way of their family, through the generations, to be harsh and strict and unforgiving. He thanked the spirits he learned a better way before he had Lu Ten. No matter what misfortunes may befall Lu Ten in life, he would always know he was loved and cherished, by his father and, before she died, his mother.

"Your father is too quick to judge," he said. "He does not stop to see what is beneath the surface." Zuko looked a mess, with his tear stained face, splotches of dirt and blood on his clothes, and the charred handkerchief. "Come, let us go inside and get you cleaned up before your mother gets back."

Zuko nodded, and the two of them went back into the palace.

***

Iroh smiled to himself, reflecting that he and his nephew had a classic Fire Nation father-son dynamic: despite all their quarreling, the bond between them was strong, if indirectly expressed. Zuko was even more reluctant to discuss feelings than he was, but he knew his nephew loved him. He knew Zuko would come for him when he was captured by Earth Kingdom soldiers, and together they put the five earth benders, all hearty, strong men, seasoned veterans of war, to shame. It had been a magnificent fight.

He recalled a conversation with Lt. Jee--who must be on his way to the North Pole by now, may the spirits protect him--after the officer learned the story behind Zuko's scar. Iroh had been surprised that their own crew did not know it, but many of them were from the colonies, including Jee, and even those who weren't had spent most of their careers serving in far flung areas. He supposed if he were a sailor from the colonies, stationed in the East Nowhere Sea, he wouldn't pay much attention to the royal family either. He was fond of Jee, and believed he was a good officer and an honorable man, in addition to being an excellent pipa player. While they talked, it became apparent that Jee believed Iroh was something of a holy man, caring for such a troubled boy, who wasn't even his own son, with no benefit to himself. But that was where Jee was wrong--he benefited greatly from being with his nephew.

He knew people forgot he was once the future Fire Lord. They forgot because it was prudent to forget, to pretend that Ozai was always the natural and right ruler of the nation, and also because he never reminded anyone, never seemed to regret the loss of his old position. And in truth he did not, at least not for his own sake. His great secret as a young man was that he never, in his heart, wanted to be the Fire Lord, and after his son's death he lost the will to pretend to the world that he did. But still, after Ozai assumed the throne, he had thought about killing his brother and taking power. He knew Fire Lord Ozai would do only harm to the Fire Nation in the long run. He decided against a coup, because the death would only bring civil war, regardless of whether he did it overtly or covertly. There was enough suspicion about the royal family as it was, and there were those in the Fire Nation whose ambition was as great as the Fire Lord's. No one discussed it openly, of course, but he knew there were whispers about Fire Lord Azulon's death, followed so soon by Princess Ursa's disappearance. The rumor that Ozai planted of her being sent away because she was unfaithful to him did not convince everyone. One more strange occurrence in the ruling family and it might not be the ruling family anymore.

If the Avatar had still been alive, something could have been done about Ozai--if the Avatar had still been alive, the war could have been ended. But of course the Avatar, or so he thought, was long gone, and bringing peace after a hundred years of war was a task far beyond him. He was too old, too tired, and had too much blood on his own hands and not enough hope in his own heart. He could not bring peace to the world because, once upon a time, he had gone to kill the last dragon, with the desire for power and violence in his heart. That had changed when he actually saw the great beasts--saw and understood the true nature of fire, of energy, in all its beautiful, terrible glory, at its core uncontrollable by any mere human being. But he did not believe that anyone who felt such a desire in the first place could turn the tide of a century of blood.

Unable to continue the war and unable to end it, he had retired as a general, and accepted his slow slide into total irrelevance in the Fire Nation. He had a pleasant enough existence, devoting his energy to shopping, eating, playing pai sho and communing with other members of the White Lotus, but without hope for anything better, for himself or anyone else. Try as he might, he could not even exert much influence behind the scenes. He could not change Ozai's mind, or his generals' minds, about the wisdom of pursuing endless warfare, or even persuade his young niece that cruelty and intimidation were not the only ways to deal with people. But Zuko--Zuko was not like the rest of their family, and with him Iroh could connect. He could understand why people did not like his nephew, especially those who did not know him well. Zuko was arrogant, impatient, sometimes clueless, and capable of cruelty--but Iroh had to ask, who in life was never cruel? These traits were balanced by compassion, protectiveness, empathy, and, yes, a strong sense of honor. Observing the boy, knowing he was the Crown Prince, Iroh had begun to dare to hope that peace was not impossible. Unfortunately, having such admirable qualities in their family had caused Zuko terrible grief. He could understand why the boy wished to purge himself of them, although he knew the attempt was misguided. The thing that Jee did not understand was that Zuko had given him hope at a time when he felt all hope was lost.

***

Iroh sat on the couch in his sitting room, looking out of the window into the garden beyond, but not seeing the green of the grass and the trees. He was back at the palace after two unbroken years in the field. The room felt alien to him, although it had been his since he was a young boy. The palace, the royal city, even the Fire Nation itself felt alien to him. His son was not here--this could not be his home. His son's ashes did not even float on the breeze or lie settled in the soil here--this could not be his home. All around him, people cheered for war, for destruction, for death--for the death of his son, for the deaths of their own sons and daughters--and believed they were cheering for their proud homeland. It left his blood cold, his senses numb, his mind blank. He felt he was no longer in this world, but he was not yet in the spirit world. He wandered in another place, a shadow world, where things were neither living nor dead. His body felt cold and clammy, like he was surrounded by a winter fog, and something in the sensation lingered even through his fire breath. He believed this must be despair.

He didn't know how long he sat before he heard soft footsteps in the room. He knew it was his nephew--his brother did not tread lightly, and his niece would not voluntarily visit him. A servant would not enter the room without asking permission. There was no one else in the palace now.

Zuko stood by the couch, looking uncertain. "Nephew, sit with me," Iroh said, patting the cushion, and the boy sat. Zuko looked at the table, with a cold, still full teacup sitting on it, and then up at Iroh, his face worried.

"Uncle," he said, "you haven't had your tea."

Iroh looked at the cup--he had poured the tea, and forgotten to drink it. "No, I have not."

"Are--are you all right?"

"I have been distracted." He smiled at the boy, although even he felt unconvinced by the expression. "It is cold now, but that can be fixed." He picked up the cup, circling it with his hands, and in a moment the tea steamed again. He inhaled the delicate aroma, focusing on the smell of fresh, green, bright things that filled his nostrils. The hot tea flowed into his stomach, and he visualized the warmth seeping into the rest of his body--veins, bones, muscles. He felt the chill subside somewhat. "Would you like some tea, Prince Zuko?"

"OK."

Iroh fetched another cup and saucer from his personal tea service, a gift from a fellow member of the White Lotus who was a master porcelain maker. He heated the pot, and poured for his nephew. He had drunk tea from this service many times with his son. He traced the lotus design on his cup with a finger. The artist who painstakingly painted it for him was dead, and the chill gripped his bones again at the thought. His assault on Ba Sing Se had rallied Earth Kingdom forces, and there were waves of guerilla attacks on Fire Nation colonies during the two year siege. The town she lived in had been buried under ten tons of rock and mud--only a handful of residents survived. He sighed. He couldn't even drink tea without being reminded of the endless death all over the world.

Iroh and Zuko sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their tea. "Uncle," Zuko said, putting his cup on the table with a determined manner, although his eyes were nervous, "could I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know where my mother is?"

He was surprised, but realized he should not be. He should have expected Zuko to ask this question. He should have already tried to set the child's mind at ease, at least as much as he could in such a bleak situation. He was ashamed to admit, he was so consumed by his own grief he neglected his nephew. He said, "I am sorry, but I do not."

"Would you...could you tell me if you did know?"

Iroh looked at the boy, so young to be troubled by such disturbing things. "I would never keep such a secret from you, even if your father forbade me from telling you."

Zuko looked shocked by such a statement. No one willfully disobeyed his father. "Do you know why she left?"

"I am afraid I do not know that either," he said. He had suspicions, considering the timing of his own father's death, but, like everyone else, he knew nothing for certain. There were only three people who knew what happened that night: one was dead, one was gone, and one was the Fire Lord. He had a greater chance of learning the truth from one of the first two than from his brother. What he believed was most likely to have happened was that Ursa discovered things she should not have about the death of Fire Lord Azulon, and was sent away to keep her quiet. He was not going to tell Zuko this--at least not until the boy was older. Zuko had enough fears of his own, without being burdened by his uncle's. Iroh went on, seeing the unspoken question in his nephew's eyes, "But I do know that it was not because of anything you did. She loved you very much, and thought highly of you."

Zuko was silent for a time. Finally, he said quietly, "I miss her."

"I miss your mother as well," Iroh said.

"I miss Lu Ten too."

Iroh put his cup on the table and closed his eyes against the surge of tears. Hearing his son's name, spoken with respect and affection, stabbed at his heart.

He felt a small, warm hand on his shoulder, and light pressure as Zuko squeezed. He opened his eyes and turned to his nephew. Iroh was surprised and touched by this comforting gesture, from a child who was grieving himself, and he smiled faintly, feeling the smile in his heart this time. The heat from Zuko's hand spread through him like the warmth of the tea had, and the chill again retreated. He reached around Zuko, and placed his large hand on one of the boy's thin shoulders. Zuko smiled back at him. He knew that the chill of despair would not last forever.

***

In the morning, Zuko woke with a clearer head. The doctor kindly provided some breakfast for them, and as they ate, Zuko said, "Uncle, I've been thinking--I think Adm. Zhao was behind this."

"I believe you are right, Nephew."

Zuko looked thoughtful. "I need to get to the North Pole and capture the Avatar."

Iroh sighed. He hoped that perhaps the loss of the ship would make Zuko re-consider his endless quest, but apparently not. "Prince Zuko, please stop and think about this. Your ship is destroyed, you are hurt, and you have no way of getting to the North Pole. Even if you were to get there, the citadel of the Northern Water Tribe is a heavily guarded fortress, protected by powerful water benders and walls of ice that rival Ba Sing Se's. All around it is one of the harshest climates in the world. Zhao is gathering the largest armada the Fire Nation has seen since the early days of the war for his attack, because he knows he will need it. A handful of strong water benders can crush a battleship in ice in minutes. Please, think about what you are suggesting."

"I have to try," Zuko said. "I can't lose the Avatar, especially not to that bastard Zhao. He tried to have me killed. He stole my crew, and destroyed my ship. I won't let him take away the only chance I have to restore my honor. Uncle," his voice became kinder, "you told me yourself never to give up without a fight."

"There is not giving up, and then there is suicide."

"That's not what this is about!" Zuko said hotly. "If I wanted to die, I would have done it already. I have a knife on me right now--the one you gave me. I don't want to die, I want to restore my honor--that's why I need to find the Avatar."

"I did not mean to suggest you were planning to do harm to yourself." Iroh feared in the back of his mind for a long time now that, if the day ever came when Zuko knew with absolute certainty he would never capture the Avatar, he would take his own life. Not because he wanted to die, but because he believed he had no choice--living without even the hope of regaining his honor, his father's love, was not an option in his mind. Iroh prayed the day would come when this was no longer the case.

"Then stop talking as though you do," Zuko said. He shook his head. "You don't have to come with me, Uncle."

Not going with his nephew was not an option for Iroh. "Prince Zuko, I would never let you do something so foolish by yourself."

Zuko smiled slightly at this. "I have an idea."

***

Iroh woke up, feeling sunlight on his face from the porthole in the wall opposite him. He had fallen asleep sitting up on the mattress Zuko lay on, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out on a stool. He looked down at the unmoving boy, who was lying on his side, still wrapped in the blanket Zhee covered him with. Zuko's head rested in Iroh's lap, the unhurt side of his face turned down. Between the bandage and the blanket, all Iroh could see of his nephew himself was part of his clean shaven scalp and his topknot. He sat still, listening to Zuko breathing, feeling the warmth of the young body against his legs. The sound, the heat was reassuring--despite all he had suffered, Zuko was still alive. Iroh remembered another time he sat by a boy, wrapped in a blanket, only his hair visible, but Lu Ten did not breath, and had gone cold. He placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder, and realized his nephew was awake.

"Prince Zuko?" he said softly.

Zuko didn't move his head, but said, "Uncle," his voice muffled.

"How long have you been awake?"

"A while."

"Are you in pain?"

"I can't feel the side of my face."

"The doctor said you wouldn't be able to, for a while."

Zuko paused, then said, "I've been banished."

It was only half a question, and there was no point in drawing out the answer. "Yes."

"I don't remember." Iroh squeezed Zuko's shoulder gently. He asked, "When did it happen?"

"Just after."

"Just after what?"

"After the duel ended."

He felt Zuko shudder, but the boy persisted. "How did the duel end?"

"Nephew, we will talk about this later, when you are stronger."

"I want to talk about it now."

"Do you not remember how it ended?" Iroh hoped that perhaps this was true, but he feared it was not.

"I remember," Zuko said. He was trembling.

"Then why do you ask me?"

Zuko didn't answer for a long moment. He was shaking harder now, and Iroh worried he was going into shock. He said quietly, "I hoped I was just remembering another nightmare."  
  
Iroh did not know he had been dreaming about his father hurting him even before this. It was a bad sign. He gently rolled Zuko onto his back and placed a hand on his heart, which was beating much too fast. "Breathe slowly," he whispered, visualizing calming energy flowing from his body to his nephew's. Zuko breathed quietly, in and out, in and out, and gradually his heart slowed and his shaking stopped.

Zuko's uncovered eye was fixed on his face. "Uncle, were you banished too?"

"No. I am staying with you, to take care of you."

"I'm not weak."

"I did not say you were. But you are injured, and you need someone to look after you while you heal."

"You'll leave when I'm better," Zuko said, anxiety sharpening his voice.

"Oh, no," Iroh answered. "Once your wound is healed, you will need someone to continue your fire bending training."

"What's the point of teaching me now? I won't be the next Fire Lord."

"But you are still a fire bender. It is a great gift and a great responsibility, and you must learn to use it wisely."

Zuko sank further against Iroh's legs. "I'm sorry, Uncle."

"Sorry for what?"

"For refusing to fight. For bringing shame on our family. For losing my honor."

Iroh closed his eyes. His nerves were threatening to break from the stress of everything that had happened over the last day and night. The incident in the war meeting, the duel, the banishment, tending to his nephew's wound, making preparations for after they left the Fire Nation, and now the truly bitter work--helping a shattered young man piece himself back together. He was quiet for a few moments, breathing slowly to calm himself. He needed some tea.

He opened his eyes when he heard Zuko crying quietly. "I'm sorry," the boy whispered again, "I'm sorry."

Iroh wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his robe. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Prince Zuko. And nothing to be ashamed of." He looked at his nephew seriously. "Asking for mercy is sometimes the only thing one can do."

"You're...not angry with me?"

"Not at all."

Zuko shifted, trying to get closer to his uncle, his seeing eye red and wet. "I'm cold," he said, shivering. The energy in Zuko's body was severely disrupted--the boy was a fire bender, and cocooned in a warm blanket in a sun filled room, and he was cold. Iroh lifted Zuko up so he was sitting, head resting on Iroh's shoulder, and wrapped both arms around him, gently warming him. The only sound was the two of them breathing, and the steady rocking of the ship. They should be nearing the Fire Nation border soon, the line that Zuko would never again be allowed to cross. He did not point this out.

"What's going to happen now?" Zuko asked.

"We will meet another ship," he said, "where we will stay until you are well again."

"And after that?"

"We will settle somewhere. You will continue your training. You--we--will have a new life, and it will be difficult to adjust to the changes, but we will endure." It sounded so simple when said that way, but Iroh knew the actions behind those words would be anything but.

Zuko looked up at him. "I...can't ever go home?" Iroh didn't answer. "Sometimes," Zuko pressed on, "people who are banished can come back, if they do something to redeem themselves--to restore their honor. Did my father say...that I could come back...if I did something to restore my honor?"

Iroh sighed. He had been dreading this part of the conversation, but knew he must tell the boy about any possibility, however remote, of returning home. "The Fire Lord said you could return home if, and only if, you capture the Avatar." Zuko's face lit up with hope, which worried Iroh. "Prince Zuko," he said before the boy could speak, "no one has seen the Avatar for over one hundred years. No one even knows the name of the one who was supposed to succeed Avatar Roku."

"But Father said I could come home if I found the Avatar. He'll give me back my honor."

Iroh thought he should have disregarded Fire Nation customs for once and kept his mouth shut. "Nephew," he said, "the Avatar is gone. You will not find him."

Zuko stared at him. "Do you have proof?" he said, anger rising in his voice.

"No."

"Then you don't know. The Avatar could still be out there."

"It is so unlikely..."

"I shouldn't try?" Zuko's temper was flaring now. "I should just give up, and slink away to live the rest of my life in shame, out on Whale Tail Island or something? I won't do that. I can't do that."

Zuko tried to get up off of his uncle's lap, but he was still too exhausted and weak to move much, and couldn't manage more than pulling the blanket off of himself. Iroh decided not to press the issue now--the boy was not thinking clearly. He needed time to get used to his new circumstances, to understand what had happened to him. He would realize that searching for the Avatar was futile, and understand the truth he could not face yet: that his father did not want him to go home, that he would be better off, at this point, not going home.

Zuko was still squirming, and Iroh laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Nephew, be still. Do not waste the energy you need for healing."

Zuko stopped moving, and it was apparent that even this small effort had taxed him. "I need to find the Avatar."

"But where would you look?" Iroh asked. "The world is vast, and there are places in it no one from the Fire Nation has ever even seen."

Zuko thought for a moment. "The Avatar is an air bender. So we should go to the Air Temples."

"If the Avatar had been at an Air Temple, the Fire Nation would have found him long ago."

"But we might find something there, a clue. I want to go, Uncle." Zuko's face darkened. "We will go."

"Very well," Iroh squeezed the boy's shoulder, and pulled the blanket back over him. "But, first things first. I wonder if we could get some tea on this ship." His stomach growled. "And perhaps food. Noodles would be good, don't you think?"


End file.
